


just overwhelm me

by craftingdead



Series: charlie will make cd a common tag if it kills them [14]
Category: The Crafting Dead
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 02:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15595851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craftingdead/pseuds/craftingdead
Summary: What if the storm ends?





	just overwhelm me

**Author's Note:**

> The Lightning Strike (What If The Storm Ends?) - Snow Patrol

_What if the storm ends?_

The White House was silent. Cold air rang in his ears as it whistled across, leaving some trace of the earth they’d left behind in its tracks. The White House was silent and all he could hear was his breathing, heavy panting that seemed too loud for his hunched-over body. The White House was silent and all he could see was the brief flash of a red scarf in front of him, disappearing as it turned a corner, feet pattering on the floor and up to… wherever.

He didn’t know—couldn’t remember how to get up to the roof, memories fuzzing in and out of focus and loud static overcoming ever rational thing he thought. So that’s why he followed the boy, overhearing his and the other’s ( _Nick, Nick, Nick—his name was Nick, and he was talking to Ghetto. Nick and Ghetto. Ghetto and Nick_ ) conversation about the doctor and the fact that he was on the roof popping off… something. It must’ve been the loud noise he’d been hearing, limping through the rooms of the White House.

He felt bad following the boy like this; it seemed weird, stalkerish, but it had to be done. He needed to find the doctor. He needed to find Ross.

 _What if I don’t see him?_ The thought flashed in his mind, feet quickening at the idea. He couldn’t lose the boy, he couldn’t, he needed to find Ross and make him pay. He knew that. He needed to make Ross pay for what he did, and that thought played over and over in his mind.

He needed to pay.

But what if Ross got to the boy first, before he could finish climbing these damned stairs and get to the roof. What if he never saw him again, as he was now, desperately trying to fix a problem that had started God knows how long ago.

How did he know that? Why did he know that? What problem was the boy trying to fix? Probably the same as his, but it unnerved him either way. The boy looked familiar, and if he knew him, that meant the others knew him, too. But he refused to let another person die at the hands of Ross, no matter how tall, short, old, or young they may be. Ross wouldn’t take another life. He wouldn’t allow it.

( _Especially not Nick’s—he wouldn’t let Ross take that away from him. He wouldn’t let Ross take his brother like he’d taken his best friend and so many others. He wouldn’t. Fuck, he needed to get up there because what if Ross was quicker? They had mentioned something about a gun and him shooting off the roof—_ )

He climbed faster.

The door was right in front of him. Cracks across the glass like lightning swam in his vision, throwing everything off balance. Everything was off balance, the doors, the storm raging overhead, the voice in his head screaming to go forward, the person standing not far from the doors, frozen in place, red scarf whipping in the wind—wait.

It was the boy.

And if that was the boy, that must mean the person standing in front of him had to be Ross. A gun slung over his back and hands extended to gesture all around him, to the flames down in the city below, to the lightning above, to the White House itself, coming apart with the roots ripping from the soil it had been buried in so many years ago. And he was _smiling_ , a close-lipped thing stretching across his face in triumph.

And it made him sick.

The boy’s hair was whipping across his face as he made his way from the door, crouching in the shadows. On his face, an expression of horror, masked by the halo of hair and lightning surrounding him. Why would he be scared?

Ross’s gun was now pointed at his chest.

Oh.

The boy was saying something now, but he couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t hear it over the sound of this planet’s last dance, last show of power as lightning cracked and rain poured onto them with the fury of the lives lost in his horrible journey to satisfy his curiosity, to experiment, to be a doctor. It was horrible.

And that’s why he needed to pay.

He watched from the shadows for quite a long time, as they shared words and talked about their woes, but he could care less. All he needed was an opening, the smallest thing, to keep his head turned away for just long enough so he could rush in and… and then push him off the building, bite him, make him shoot himself, whatever. It didn’t matter. He would pay if he had to bring himself down with the doctor.

The silver sky lit up again. The boy lowered his head, the light dying from his eyes. The star had finally fallen back to earth, away from its dreams of happiness, hope, and the future. Ross gave a grim smile and wrapped a finger around the trigger.

( _He was going to shoot Nick. He was going to shoot Nick and if he didn’t do anything about it, Nick would be dead before he hit the ground. He had to do something, anything to stop Ross from doing it, but what? All of his ideas would get him killed._ )

Unless he was supposed to die.

And then he was back, watching Nick lower his head and Ross smile and dread unfurled in his stomach like the infection eating away at his brain and body.

He was back, watching Ross murmur a soft “goodbye, Nick.”

He was back.

And he’d found himself, found the last piece of humanity wrapped up in its own little corner in the shitshow that was now his brain. He wasn’t a brainless zombie anymore, doomed to be consumed with his own hunger, no—he was Sky _fucking_ Cielo, and he wasn’t going to let this fucking bastard take anything else away from him. Not anymore. He wasn’t going to run anymore, run from his inevitable fate, run from the fact that he could make a difference and the fact that is wasn’t just about Ross.

He was going to fucking do something.

So as Ross pulled the trigger he screamed. It didn’t even touch Nick, far from it, actually—carving a picture into the wall of the White House.

And he ran, ran, ran, all the way over to Ross, ignoring the surprised yell from both him and his brother as he made a promise, swearing to never let this motherfucker take anyone or anything again. Ross’s empire would fall with them, off the side of the White House with the wind whistling in his ears as the ground loomed ever closer and closer. He could hear Nick scream something from the roof. Ross was yelling too. But he didn’t notice.

Instead, Sky closed his eyes and smiled.


End file.
